Back Upstairs
by Literary Bitca
Summary: After technical difficulties make their original plan impossible, Reddington and Liz are forced to change tactics while dealing with a member of the Blacklist in a London hotel. Banter, angst, interrogation, and a few suggestive moments and some violence thrown in there for good measure. ;)
1. Chapter 1

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; I make no money from this.

Chapter 1

...:::::

Bugging the elevator and the top floor suite hadn't been their job in the first place. They were there to attend a high-end art auction and confirm the identity of a man Reddington would only describe as 'a person of interest.' In true Reddington fashion, he had refused to elaborate further.

Liz resisted the urge to sigh as she stepped on to the elevator on the top floor of the historic London hotel. They had successfully placed the surveillance equipment in various positions around the suite, and she was looking forward to getting back to the party. As uncomfortable as her gown was, she felt more out of her element when things didn't go according to plan and she was forced to take on the tech portion of an operation. She slipped several small pieces of electronic equipment and a screwdriver from her clutch as the doors slid closed behind Reddington's back as he joined her on the elevator. He watched her impassively, hands clasped expectantly in front of him, as she turned to the control panel and began removing the face plate.

"Okay, Aram, since your guy bailed on us, you're going to have to talk me through what I'm doing. Electronic stuff is your wheelhouse, not mine," Liz said.

Meera, Ressler, and Aram huddled around an array of computer screens in one of the rooms a few floors down. Aram answered immediately. "Okay, this should be relatively simple, but you're going to have to move fast. You've only got the elevator ride down to do this, because if I start shutting down this car through the hotel's system, the house maintenance will see that something's up—"

"Wasting time, Aram," Liz said, setting the removed panel on the floor.

"Right, okay, you're going to see wires on the left, and a circuit board-type set-up on the right. Place th—"

"We have a problem, Keen," Ressler interrupted, looking at the security feeds on one of the other screens. He had been watching the crowds at the gala on the main floor. A man in a tuxedo patted his jacket pockets as if searching for something, turned, and made his way back in the direction of the elevators. "Hendricks looks like he's on his way back upstairs, and you're in the car he's expecting to get on to. Forget the bugs; put that panel back together and get off the damn elevator."

Liz grabbed the faceplate and shoved it back in place. She held one screw in her teeth as she fumbled to get another one into place.

"They can't get off that one, it's the direct elevator to Hendricks' suite and the one on the floor below his. It only goes from the top two floors to the bottom floor and back," Aram corrected.

"Problem," Liz updated Reddington. "Hendricks is about to try to get back on this elevator. No time to bug it."

"Even if you get that panel back into place before we reach the bottom floor," Red started conversationally, "you're going to have to come up with a story about how we happened to get on to the private elevator."

"Tell you what: earn your keep. You come up with the story, I'll finish putting this panel back on," Liz snapped, mumbling around the screw in her teeth.

"Well, I suppose we're staying in the other private suite this car services, then, aren't we?" Red asked. He looked pointedly at the camera in the top corner of the elevator car, knowing full well the rest of them team was watching them. "We'll need two room keys, turn down service, and extra blankets on the bed. Oh, and some chocolates like Hendrix had in his suite, too. Those were _divine_."

"You ate his chocolates?" Liz admonished, finishing with the final screw. She shoved the small tools back in her clutch and spun to face Red. "Do not engage this man when we reach the ground floor. I'll take your arm and we will exit the elevator and barely acknowledge him. Got it?"

"Or we could invent a reason to stay on the elevator, Aram could shut it down before we reach the top floors, and we could talk to him until we get all the voice recognition phrases we need, rather than waiting to see if we get the necessary verbiage from the bugs we placed in his rooms. I like my plan. Let's do it." Red spoke rapidly, with an enthused look on his face.

"How do we believably stay on the elevator? No. We're getting off." Liz turned to face the doors expectantly.

"We could be so intoxicated by each other that we decide to skip the gala and head straight back upstairs to—" Liz shot Red a warning look. "Oh. Apparently we're not at that stage in our undercover relationship." Red feigned a bruised ego. "But intoxication is a grand idea. Ever experimented with bulimia? If you can manage to vomit on the floor in the next ten seconds, I'm sure he'll believe me when I say you mixed too many martinis with the shellfish, and we need to take you back upstairs." Liz continued to face the elevator doors, refusing to dignify Red's plans with any acknowledgement.

"Get off the elevator when it hits the ground floor with Reddington, Keen," Ressler ordered over the ear piece.

The elevator slowed to a stop.

"Fine, if you won't play the drunk, Lord knows I can," Reddington said seriously, moving to face Liz, his back to the elevator doors. "Keep him talking. If he is who I think he is, he's a ladies man, and your best bet is to appeal to his pretty-boy ego. Lay it on thick, Lizzie."

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Liz continued to glare at Reddington, whose face suddenly melted into a bland smile, his shoulders sagging a bit. He made a calculated, unsteady step backwards, then swayed convincingly toward Liz, and as he caught himself on the back wall of the elevator, he buckled one leg and slumped to the ground.

Liz took a quick step back from Reddington, who was now taking up a good portion of the middle of the elevator, and looked up, somewhat horrified, to see Hendricks framed in the open doors.

"Well," the man said, surveying the scene. "He looks like he needs to skip this party. Can I help you get him back upstairs?"

"Get him off that elevator, Keen!" Ressler shouted through Liz's earpiece.

Reddington shifted around to a seated position on the floor with the appropriate amount of difficulty and looked up at the man standing in front of him, holding the doors open as they attempted to slide closed. "And who are you?" he said rudely, frowning at Hendricks as Liz knelt on one knee next to him.

Liz looked up at the man and sighed sharply. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'll just help him up and we'll be out of your way—"

"This gala doesn't need one more rich, belligerent drunk; pardon my candor," he added to Liz. The elevator chimed a complaint at being held open. "You must be staying in the suite below mine. Let's get him back up there and avoid a scene, shall we?"

"No, really, I—" Liz protested.

"I insist," the man said. "Besides, I don't feel right about leaving a beautiful woman alone to deal with an obviously intoxicated man." He stepped in and let the doors close. "Though he _does_ look as though he's not going to be much trouble, and I'm sure you can handle this. But I'll ride with you just the same." He swiped his key card to access the upper levels and thumbed both top floor buttons.

Liz sighed and turned back to Reddington, moving his chin so he looked at her. His face had gone blank, but as she brought his eyes up to hers, his face widened into another bland, somehow satisfied smile. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She could hear the team shouting commands at Aram through her earpiece, trying feverishly to take over the internal system that governed the elevators and get the car stopped before they reached the suite she and Red were apparently guests in.

"Okay," Liz allowed, straightening. She smiled resignedly at Hendricks. "Thanks for your help."

Reddington shifted on the ground with a decided lack of coordination and slurred, "Not that we asked for it."

...:::::

Thanks for reading! Please stay tuned, things are going to get spicier and more violent as we go, I promise. (Not M spicy, tho! Don't get your hopes _too_ high.)

Also, praise, suggestions, and all-around thoughts are super helpful. Please comment before you leave this page! Feedback is my favorite thing. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter 2

...:::::

Liz smiled resignedly at Hendricks. "Thanks for your help."

Red shifted on the ground with a decided lack of coordination and slurred, "Not that we asked for it."

Liz kicked the toe of her shoe sharply into his side, eliciting a low groan, and causing Red to twist sideways. She shot an embarrassed look at Hendricks. "I'm sorry, he's a bit of a mess, and _completely incapable of following directions_," she said pointedly, looking down at the crumpled form on the floor between them. She turned her attention back to Hendricks. "I tried to tell him he shouldn't drink so much…" she continued, by way of an explanation.

"Don't worry, I know the type. There's no reasoning with them when they're like this."

Liz nodded with a grateful smile, glad he had accepted the ruse and connected with her plight on a personal level. She figured this would make it easier for him to relate to her once the elevator stopped.

If it stopped.

The car fell into silence as Liz watched the digital numbers increase. Aram's frantic monologue was continuing through her earpiece as he worked to stall their ascent. As the floor Hendrix expected to be theirs neared, she heard Ressler say angrily, "If you can't do this, we need to-"

"Got it!" Aram exclaimed triumphantly.

With a jolt the elevator stopped, and the main lights went out. After a beat of complete darkness, a single, red light from above the doors illuminated the elevator, giving the scene a decidedly eerie cast.

"Is this the lobby…?" Red inquired dumbly from the floor, shoving forward as if he were preparing to stand and exit.

"No, it's not. Just…stay where you are," Liz instructed. She looked at Hendricks. "Now what?"

The man stared back at her for a moment before clearing his throat and reaching for the call button. As he proceeded to press it multiple times with varying degrees of force to no avail, Aram's voice came over her earpiece again.

"Agent Keen, I'm sorry, the only way I could stop the elevator in time was to take out the entire power for that section of the hotel. I'm working on reinstating the power only, without reactivating the elevators, but that's going to take just a minute to finesse. In the meantime, you should know we've also lost the in-house surveillance camera in there, and I'll make sure Agent Malik will be on the other end of the line if I can get the call button working again, too, so we'll have the right accent."

"Okay," Liz said, answering Aram while simultaneously addressing Hendricks. "Okay, that doesn't look like it's working."

He smiled and dropped his hand. "No, it doesn't, does it?"

Liz sighed and leaned back against her side of the elevator, smoothing her dress down her sides as if the elevator's sudden stop had moved the tight fabric out of place. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to go to this party to begin with, but I feel terrible that you're missing it because of us." She gave a weak smile. "That'll teach you to be a gentleman. I bet you won't ever offer to help a damsel in distress again?"

"Nonsense," Hendricks assured her smoothly. "I was on my way back upstairs anyway. If I'd let you off the elevator I'd be stuck here by myself right now." He paused and inclined his head with a smile. "_You_ improve the décor immeasurably."

"So…we're not going to the party anymore, then…?" Red's interruption floated up from the floor.

Liz rolled her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. "No. It looks like we're stuck here for awhile. How long do these things usually take? I've never been stuck in an elevator before. Fifteen minutes? Six hours?"

Hendricks shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over the decorative brass railing. "I don't know. This is a first for me, too. But just in case—" he lowered himself to the floor, his back against the opposite wall to Liz, "—I'm going to make myself comfortable."

Liz looked around as if deciding whether to sit as well. "You're probably right," she agreed, and bent to take a seat across from Hendricks, with Red's legs extended between them. She attempted to sit gracefully, curling her legs to one side, wishing her gown was more generous, and without quite as high a slit in the side. She carefully arranged the fabric over her legs once she had found a comfortable position.

There was a beat of silence, and Meera's voice came over Liz's earpiece. "Okay, time to get to work. We need him to say five words: 'fortune', 'bury', 'faith', 'deal' and—"

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" Hendricks said suddenly, unaware that he was interrupting. He leaned forward and offered Liz his hand. "I'm Mark Hendricks."

Liz leaned in and took his hand. "Faith. Faith Waters."

"Faith," Hendricks repeated. "What a beautiful name. It suits you."

"Fabulous, 'Faith'. Got it. One down, four to go," Meera said. "And that last word we need is 'life'."

"I'm Carl," Red stated, his tone implying he felt left out, though he didn't make a move to shake Hendricks' hand. "And I need some more alcohol."

"I think that's the last thing you need," Liz corrected him, letting go of the hand she was still holding and settling back against her wall.

"How dull." Red leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when we get to a floor that has a bar on it," he mumbled.

"He's quite the character, isn't he?" Hendricks said with a raised eyebrow.

"You have no idea," Liz agreed. "So, as long as it looks like we're the only company we have, we might as well get to know one another." She smiled. "What do you do, Mark?"

"I'm in art and antiquities, based out of New York. That's why I'm here tonight—I'm curating the collection of sculptures on loan to the hotel for display for the benefit."

"An art dealer?" Liz hoped she looked impressed. "Wow. That sounds so glamorous," she gushed.

"Sometimes." Hendricks smiled. "But most of the time it's paperwork and long plane flights and meetings with wealthy collectors who know nothing about their pieces except that they're rare and valuable."

"You don't care about the value of what you sell? I'm sure you make commission on sales…?" Liz asked with a doubtful look.

"I care about a piece's history. Its story." Hendricks spread his hands in front of himself for emphasis. "The past imparts an object's value; if you don't know how a painting became famous, how can you truly enjoy it?" He waved one hand dismissively. "I'm sorry, I get very passionate about art, but I'll save my tirades for those who deserve to be lectured. I'd much rather hear about you. What do you do, Faith?"

Liz took a deep breath, mentally crossing her fingers that her lies would ring true. "I got roped into the family business, which is incredibly boring by comparison to _your_ lifestyle. We're one of the biggest dry packaged food distributors in the US, and…every time I say that it sounds a little bit more terrible!" she ended with a laugh. "I help run the company." Liz's smile faded, and she looked down at her hands. "Actually, lately, I'm not sure how much I really help. I get the feeling my position was invented to keep me from leaving to forge my own path. Some days I'm not really sure what I actually_ do_ there anymore…" She shrugged, and hoped her attempt to conjure sympathy as a continued damsel in distress would be successful.

"Oh, I think your boss knows what he's doing. If you walked into a meeting with me, I'd be so distracted by your beauty that I'd sign anything you asked me to."

Liz ducked her head and bit her lip, pretending to try to hide a flattered smile while groaning internally.

"So, are you here on business or pleasure?" Hendricks continued.

"A bit of both? I'm hoping to see some of the city while I'm here, but I'm afraid most of my time will be spent in meetings, or babysitting him." She nodded to Red's slumped form.

"Ah, yes, Carl The Drunk. The look on your face when the elevator opened was one I recognized: I've had that look before. A mix of frustration and disappointment. I had to pour my father into bed one too many times when I was young."

"He's not my father," Liz was quick to point out.

"Oh, I know that."

Liz looked at Hendricks quizzically.

"When you sat down, the slit in your dress exposed quite a bit of leg," Hendricks explained. "I've never seen a father look at his daughter's thigh the way he looked at yours."

Liz opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her eyes slid from Hendricks to Red, an expression of dismay on her face she was unable to check, as she realized that despite several minutes of silence, the entire team was still listening to this conversation, and while Red was doing a very good job of looking unconscious, she knew he was paying attention to every audible detail.

"If you're worried about him hearing us, don't be." Hendricks nudged Red's leg with his shoe, which elicited no reaction. "I'm pretty sure he's down for the count."

Liz dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap and swallowed.

"So, you're uncomfortable with the idea of him looking at you like that? So, he's not your lover, either. Who _is_ Carl?"

Liz shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor and looked at Red's still, seemingly peaceful form. The best lies were mostly truth, so she went with that. "He's a friend of the family. He knew my father a long time ago. He's only been a part of my life recently, and he's been an obnoxious, infuriating disruption the entire time."

"Mmm. Everybody has those kinds of family friends. When they crop up, I generally have mine killed." Liz flicked her eyes up to him. He smiled and winked. "Kidding, obviously." Liz gave what she hoped was a convincing smile and a small laugh. "Well, let's lighten this up, shall we? Let me start again. Like I said, my name is Mark, I live in New York, I like good seafood, airplanes, and French wine, I'm in art and antiquities...and I'm single." He leaned forward, extending his arm out over Red's legs again, and re-offered his hand to Liz. "Pleasure to be stuck in an elevator with you."

Liz gave what she hoped was a grateful smile and took his hand again. "Faith. From San Francisco. I..." She cast around for details to give to mirror his introduction. "...I have two dogs, I also like good seafood, I don't know much about French wine, and I think I just realized I hate working for the family business. And...I'm also single."

Hendricks leaned forward while simultaneously pulling Liz closer, and kissed the back of her hand before releasing it. "Okay. Mental note," he said as he settled back against the wall. "The next time I'm in San Francisco and I ask you out to dinner, it'll be to an amazing seafood restaurant."

"Sounds like a plan. So long as you're in charge of ordering the French wine to go with. Deal?" Liz prompted.

"Deal," Hendricks agreed.

"Wonderful, got it, that's two, keep going," Meera said in Liz's ear.

"I'll order the wine, and I'll also want to meet your pets: I love dogs, but I don't have any. Travel too much. What are their names?" Hendricks asked.

"Hudson...and Tom."

"Well trained?"

"Hudson is." Liz smiled. "But Tom's been giving me trouble recently."

...:::::

Thanks for reading! I promise, we'll get more Red involvement later, but I'm going for a slow-burn, UST story here, so I'm going to take my time and see how uncomfortable we can get this conversation to be before I let anyone out of the elevator. :)

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I don't own the Blacklist characters, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Chapter 3

…...:::::

"So," Liz continued, trying to keep the conversation moving smoothly. "You're an art dealer. Is that how you made your 'fortune'?" she asked, wiggling her fingers.

"Who says I have a fortune?" Hendricks countered flirtatiously.

"Nicely done, Keen, nicely done." Ressler crossed another word off their list.

"You're staying in the only other private suite at this hotel. The top floor here isn't free." Liz raised an eyebrow, quirking her lips.

"Alright, yes, you caught me," Hendricks held up his hands in mock surrender. "A talent for finding rare pieces and connecting them to a buyer who wants them pays well. And I suppose I wasn't entirely truthful earlier when I said the money doesn't matter. But what I do with what I earn is very important to me, too."

"How so?" Liz prompted, slowly uncurling her legs to her left, and leaning out on her right arm, attempting to show her figure off to its best advantage and feeling incredibly cheap as she did so.

Hendricks didn't try to hide the way his eyes slid appreciatively over her. "There are parts of this world that are very beautiful, and full of beautiful people, but are very dangerous. Much of my favorite art and sculpture comes from those places. I support various causes that I believe could make some of those places…better."

"Mmmm…" Liz closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. "I'd love to travel to exotic places. I feel like the number of frequent flier miles I've racked up should accompany some memories of jungles or beaches or temples. Not just airports and board rooms."

"You never take time for yourself on any of these trips?"

"No, not really," she replied, opening her eyes again. She looked down and traced a pattern on the tile floor. "I had grand plans in college; I was wild, and fun. And I thought I was always going to be that way. And then came the responsibilities of adulthood, with boring suits and blouses, and shareholders, and men who want to use you for their own agendas." Liz looked up, her eyes flashing. "I wish I could get back that fire I had in college. I wish my life hadn't gotten in the way of me…" she trailed off, making a futile gesture with her hand, as if she didn't know how to continue.

"…living your life?" Hendricks supplied, finishing her sentence.

"Life! Yes!" Aram exclaimed. "One more, Agent Keen! We just need him to say 'bury'!"

"Yes," Liz locked eyes with Hendricks. "Yes, exactly."

Hendricks held her gaze for a long moment. "Forget dinner at a seafood restaurant in San Francisco. Tomorrow I'm headed to Paris, and then to Saint-Tropez. Come with me. We can eat Mediterranean food, I'll teach you about French wine, and we can make love on a balcony overlooking the sea. We'll…'get back your fire' in very short order, I promise."

Liz swallowed, unsure how to proceed in the face of such a blatant proposition.

"Keep it going, Keen," Ressler said. "You just need one more word."

Liz flicked her eyes to the floor, careful to keep her face neutral, and considered her options.

"I'm sorry, Liz, I am," Meera said quietly. "But I agree. It's terrible, but you need to do whatever it takes to finish this so we can get you out of there. Keep the conversation going."

Licking her lips, Liz shifted on to her hands and knees so she faced Hendricks across Reddington's lap. "You want me to fly to France with you? But I barely know anything about you," she said seductively, narrowing her eyes in feigned suspicion.

"Ask me anything," Hendricks said, watching her movements with an anticipatory hunger, but not moving from his cross-legged position, just on the other side of Reddington.

"What kind of music do you like?" Liz inquired, looking up at Hendricks through her lashes. She moved one hand over Red and placed it on the ground next to Hendricks' knee.

"Anything with a piano in it."

"Favorite season?" She moved her other hand to the floor beside Hendricks, acutely aware that she was now on all fours, spanning the 'unconscious' form of Reddington. Her hands were on one side of him, her knees on the other. To his credit, and her everlasting gratitude, he hadn't so much as twitched. His breathing was so slow and even that if she didn't know better, Liz would have sworn he'd actually fallen asleep.

"Winter. I love the look of a beautiful woman wearing fur." Hendricks reached up and tilted Liz's chin up with one finger.

"Mmm. I like summer," she countered in a low voice. "I'd rather be…hot…than cold."

Liz thought she felt Red's leg move slightly, but her attention was brought back to the younger man in front of her when he abruptly leaned forward and closed the distance between them, kissing Liz while winding a possessive hand around the back of her neck.

Suddenly she felt Red's palm close over her calf, just below her knee, and she made a small, surprised noise in the back of her throat that she attempted to turn into a believable moan. The hand tightened.

Breaking the kiss, Liz let out a shaky breath, hoping Hendricks had not seen Reddington move. It didn't appear so, as he smiled at her, somewhat arrogantly and with renewed hunger, and leaned toward her again. At the last second, Liz moved back a fraction of an inch, and bit her lip seductively. She tilted her head and brushed her lips over his, barely touching him.

"What's your favorite color?" she whispered against his mouth.

"Deep blue. What's yours?" he whispered back, kissing along her jaw toward her neck. Reddington's hand tightened again around her leg.

"Red," she answered, not missing a beat. She pulled back slightly, making him look her in the eyes again, and trying to hide the fact that the man who was supposed to be unconscious had obviously changed the position of one of his hands.

"Mmm," Hendricks smiled, and gently tucked a strand of Liz's hair behind her ear. "Good choice. The color of passion."

"That's not why I like it. Red…lets me feel in control." Liz dropped her voice and shifted her weight like a stretching cat, dropping her shoulders and pushing her hips back. She gave a devilish smile. "Like I don't need rescuing," she added for emphasis, licking her lips.

Liz stayed, poised with her back arched, waiting for a reaction that signified Red had understood her request to stay silent. After a long moment, the grip on her calf loosened.

"Come to my room tonight," Hendricks said. "When the bumbling technicians out there finally get this thing moving again, let's dump him," he inclined his head in Red's direction without looking away, "and we can continue this little get-to-know-you interview in a much more comfortable location."

"You need one more, Liz, get him to say 'bury.' Ressler's on his way to you, and we want to get you out of there. This has gone on long enough," Meera interrupted.

Liz leaned back in to skim her lips over Hendricks'. "Will there be room service?" she murmured.

He trailed a single finger up Liz's arm, and she shivered. She hoped he took it as attraction, and not an unavoidable gut reaction to feeling profoundly dirty. "I could arrange for some champagne to be sent up…?" he offered.

"Anything else we might add to the menu…?" Liz asked.

"I'm sure the kitchen could find something." Hendricks leaned in to kiss her again, but she turned her head coyly at the last second.

"You should see what I can do with a strawberry," Liz said in his ear in a quiet, breathy tone.

Hendricks gave a low, appreciative hum. "I'm allergic, so you can't use a strawberry, but I'll specifically request they send some raspberries up with the champagne, if you can work with those instead?" He gave a smug smile, as if he was proud of solving a tough problem.

Liz cocked her head to the side and pouted quizzically. "Will that work?" she asked, seemingly to herself.

"Yes, yes, that'll work, we can use it. Wrap it up, Ressler, get them out of there." Meera's voice came through her earpiece, and Liz smiled and nodded.

"Yes. I think raspberries will work nicely." She grinned at Hendricks and leaned in, pushing him back against the wall of the elevator in an authoritative kiss, smoothly easing the rest of the way over Red and into Mark's lap.

With a loud, metallic clang that made Liz and Mark both jump, the elevator doors wrenched open six inches, and half of Ressler's face appeared in the opening near the floor. Reddington didn't budge.

"Hello!" Ressler said. "Thanks so much for waiting!" His English accent was terrible, but he was smiling politely. "This has been a real complicated fix."

"_What_ is _that_?" Meera exclaimed, horrified. "Is that your attempt at a British accent? We don't sound like that!" She turned to Aram. "I don't sound like that," she insisted.

Ressler continued to wrestle the doors open, and Liz could see they'd stopped between floors, with two feet of clearance at the bottom of the car opening to a short drop down to where Ressler was standing. "I can't actually get the elevator moving again, but I did manage to get the doors open, and the lights should be back on any second." He smiled politely at them again. "Finally." Awkwardly, he tugged at his uniform, and raised his eyebrows at Liz. "So, uh, ladies first?"

…..:::::

Thanks for reading! More to come. I'm working on this steadily. Please review before you leave the page!

For me, the hardest thing to write is movement. Did the changes in position for Liz make sense? Sometimes I read fanfics and the specific description of a person's movement makes it seem like they end up playing Twister with themselves. O.o


	4. Chapter 4

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I do not own the Blacklist characters, and I am not making any money from this.

Chapter 4

…..:::::

Awkwardly, Ressler tugged at his uniform, and raised his eyebrows at Liz from the floor below her. "So, uh, ladies first?" He offered a hand up into the elevator car.

"Um, actually…" Liz climbed awkwardly off of Hendricks' lap, fairly embarrassed by the whole situation, even though they'd successfully gotten what they needed. "We've got a man in here who's going to be difficult to move. He had a bit too much to drink, and we should probably hand him out to you before we climb down."

Moving around to the other side of Red, Liz took hold of him, high under one arm. Hendricks mirrored her, grabbing the other arm, and together they shifted him forward toward the doors. Red groaned, but didn't open his eyes or make a move to help them with their task. They pushed his legs toward Ressler, who did his part to pull them through the opening, and grunted as the rest of Red's weight was lowered down to him through the opening. Ressler twisted sideways and dumped Reddington unceremoniously in a heap against the wall, not without a small measure of enjoyment.

"_How mature_," Red complained under his breath, frowning and bringing one hand unsteadily up to his forehead without opening his eyes. "Ow…?" he said, somewhat louder.

"You next," Hendricks said, smiling at Liz. She took his hand for balance, and slipped her lower body through the hole and down into Ressler's arms. As he set her down, he palmed a card key into her hand, which she smoothly slipped into an outside pocket of her clutch.

Ressler turned back to the elevator and braced Hendricks as he dropped to the floor next to them.

The lights in the hallway blazed to life, and Ressler and Liz heard Aram say, "Okay, lights restored, but I've kept the private elevator off-line. Agent Keen, you've got the card key to what we're calling 'your suite', and if you take the stairs to your left up one floor, the card will get you out of the stairwell into the foyer, and into the suite itself from the foyer entrance. We got lucky—no one had booked it, so it was already empty."

"Head there and stay put with Reddington, okay?" Meera said.

Ressler motioned toward the door to the stairwell. "If you'd like the continue up to your suite, these stairs will get you there, or if you take that hallway—" he pointed in the opposite direction, "—you'll find elevators to take you down to any of the other levels. They're still in service." He paused, then added, "We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. Is there anything we can do for you…?"

"No, thank you," Liz said quickly. "We'll just take the stairs from here. Thank you so much for your help."

"Do you need a hand with…?" Ressler trailed off, gesturing to Reddington, who had pretended to come around enough to be sitting up against the marble of the elevator bay wall.

"Actually, if you don't mind, that would be—"

"No, we'll manage," Hendricks cut Liz off, crossing between them and moving toward the slumped man on the floor. "You should really keep working on the power situation," he added, somewhat coldly.

Ressler nodded. "Alright, then. You all have a good night…?"

Hendricks had hauled Reddington to his feet, with additional assistance from Liz, and with one of them under each arm the three made their way toward the stairwell door, which Hendricks managed to swing open without dropping Reddington. Liz was grateful he had decided to help with his own weight a bit; Red was stumbling with convincing imbalance, but in actual fact was putting little to no weight on Liz's shoulders.

They made their way slowly up the flight of stairs, and Liz swiped the card she pulled from her clutch when they got to their floor. The door opened into a foyer, with the lifeless elevator to their right, and a beautiful, tall door directly across from it. Liz used her card again to access the suite itself, and with a low groan from Reddington, they entered an enormous living space.

"Faith, darling, I've exhausted the supply up here. Please call down to that party you're making me miss and have them send up some scotch. No, on second thought, it doesn't have to be scotch." Red stopped moving abruptly and swung his head toward Liz, smiling his bland, drunken smile at her again. "Just…tell them to surprise me."

Liz spied a large bed through an open set of French doors. "Okay, I'll get right on that, but first, let's get you into bed, and I'll bring you whatever they rustle up, hmm?" She steered them in the direction of the bedroom.

"That's a grand idea, Faith, grand idea…" Liz and Hendricks lowered Reddington down to a sitting position on the bed. He looked up at Hendricks, confused, as if only just noticing his presence. "…who are _you_?"

"Why don't you just lie down, while we go call for that scotch, Carl? Sound like a plan?"

"A very good one," Red agreed with a nod. He leaned down on one elbow, awkwardly swung his legs up onto the bed, and laid down in what Liz thought must be a thoroughly uncomfortable position.

Hendricks and Liz walked back toward the door to the suite, and when they reached it, Liz felt a hand on the small of her back. Hendricks moved between her and the door, and leaned in for another kiss. Liz tried to return his intensity with the appropriate amount of passion, and after what couldn't have been more than sixty seconds, when she felt like she couldn't continue without biting him, she broke away and curled her head into his neck, kissing just below his ear.

"So…that room service you were talking about?" she prompted.

"I'll call as soon as we get in the door." Hendricks reached for the handle behind him.

Liz stayed put when he tugged at her hand, and she gave him a coy smile. "Tell you what. You head upstairs, call for some champagne—"

"—and raspberries," Hendricks interjected.

"And raspberries," Liz agreed, still smiling. "Give me ten minutes here to freshen up, and I'll join you upstairs."

Hendricks nodded, with a ghost of a strange expression on his face, before smirking hungrily at Liz again. "Okay. See you in ten." He kissed her quickly one more time, then disappeared out the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Liz allowed a shudder to pass through her, and she shook out her arms, wondering where the shower was in this suite.

She made her way back toward the bedroom. Stepping into the doorway but not entering the room, she said, "He's gone."

"So," Reddington said, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up on the edge of the bed, pursing his lips. "Was it good for you?"

…..:::::

So this all came out a lot faster than I thought it would. Chapter 3 was written, and rewritten, and rewritten again, and reworded, and stressed over, and this one just kind of popped out. I actually wrote the last two paragraphs of this chapter first, and then everything leading up to it kind of fell into place.

Actual earnest Red/Liz conversation in the next chapter, I promise. :)

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews so far! I get a big goofy grin every time I see a new one. :D


	5. Chapter 5

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I do not own Blacklist characters, and I am not making any money from this.

Chapter 5

…..:::::

Liz stepped into the doorway to the suite bedroom but didn't enter. "He's gone," she said.

"So," Reddington said, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up on the edge of the bed, pursing his lips. "Was it good for you?"

Liz's expression was icy. "We got what we needed," she told him.

"Is that the 'royal we'? Because if you need a cigarette after all of that—"

Liz ignored him, and turned away into the main living space. Reddington stood and followed, undeterred.

"You missed your calling, Lizzie; you should have been an actress. That was an Oscar-worthy performance back there." Red's tone was an attempt at playful levity, but Liz could hear an edge in it that wasn't usually there. "No wonder you got invited back to his place."

Liz continued to ignore him, walking into the third room in the suite, which was made up like a study, with a heavy, carved wooden desk set in front of tall glass doors that opened out on to a private balcony.

"And I'm curious," he went on, continuing to follow her. "What exactly _were_ you planning to do with that strawberry?"

Liz spun, and Red's forward progress was arrested by a harsh slap that snapped his head to one side. He made no attempt to turn back towards Liz for a long moment. He worked his jaw once, pursing his lips, and looked back to Liz, holding her gaze with a disappointed look on his face before asking in a low voice, "What were you thinking, Lizzie?"

"_'__What was I thinking'_?" Liz repeated, incredulously. "I was thinking you stuck me in that elevator and told me to flirt with that man. '_Lay it on thick, Lizzie_,'" she quoted, her voice rising. "You forced the situation, and then pretended to _pass out_. You may have been physically present, but in reality you _left_ me in that box, with the team in my ear telling me to do whatever was necessary; now what was I supposed to—" Liz broke off abruptly, and closed her eyes in dismay. After a beat, she asked, "Aram, are you still listening?"

Aram paused before replying cautiously, "…no?"

Liz exhaled in frustration and snatched the audio receiver from the inner lining of her gown's neckline. "I'm turning audio off." Her voice was clipped and business-like. "I've still got you in my ear; tell me when you're ready for us to head out and I'll turn the mic back on, and it _better _be in less than ten minutes, because I do_ not_ plan on meeting Hendrix upstairs in his suite." Liz fumbled with the small pellet, attempting to turn it off.

Reddington let her struggle for a brief moment before grabbing the device from her hands, dropping it on the decorative marble end table next to them, and swiftly bringing a small but heavy bronze bust down on top of it. Red set the sculpture back down and straightened.

"Ah," he said, with a satirical smile. "Privacy."

Liz glared. "Why did you move your hand in the elevator?" she demanded. "That was reckless. If he'd seen you move—"

"He didn't," Reddington interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "As I just said, your performance was…compelling. He wasn't paying any attention to where I was putting my hand." He turned to face the windows, stepping up toward the edge of the wide desk, one arm gesturing to the view. "I love London," he said lightly. "Have I ever told you about the time I met Princess Diana?"

"It was a dumb move, Red. It could have blown the whole thing. Why would you risk that?" she asked again, refusing to let him change the subject.

"It was after she and Charles split, but well before she took up with Fayed—"

"Dammit, Red! Answer me!" Liz ordered angrily, pulling her ear piece out in an attempt to silence Aram and Meera's technical chatter. "Were you telling me to be careful? Asking me if I needed help?" She stepped to his side and looked up at his face, her eyes searching. "Telling me to stop?"

After a moment's pause, still looking out over London, Reddington said, "Yes."

"Yes what? Which one?"

Red turned his head toward her and held her gaze. "All of them," he said seriously.

Liz swallowed, slightly uncomfortable with his answer, even though she had supplied the options herself. Not breaking eye contact, she prompted, "He said you looked at my leg."

Red looked back out the window, and he didn't speak for so long that Liz started to think she wasn't going to get a response. Finally, he said, "I've had a daughter, Lizzie. I remember wanting to protect her from everything evil and cruel in the world." He paused, thoughtful. "Since I suppose I fall into the 'evil and cruel' category myself… I guess it was somewhat inevitable that I wouldn't succeed.

"My desire to protect you is _profoundly_ different," he continued, softer, yet still matter-of-fact. "You asked me if I was your father; I said no. I'm not your father, and I won't pretend to be." Red exhaled. "And a man who is not your father would've looked."

"So, that's it? 'I'm a man, and a man would've looked, so I did'?" Liz asked with a hint of derision.

"What a fantastic oversimplification of what I just said."

"You never talk about your daughter," she noted.

"No. I don't."

"What do you want from me, Red?" Liz asked abruptly.

He gave her a sidelong glance, cautiously curious. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean…you've made it clear you care about me, what happens to me, my safety. You've demonstrated an _incredible_ desire to ensure my well being, sometimes at great cost to others. Your level of…devotion…" Liz trailed off, and started again. "You've said it's not parental, but I doubt I'm the girl of your dreams who you're hoping to marry and settle down with on half an acre in suburbia with a white picket fence."

"Are those the only two available options?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Stop joking. Just for a _second. Please_," Liz begged, some of her earlier anger returning. She moved in front of Reddington, the desk directly behind her, purposefully blocking his view of the windows and London beyond. "What do you want from me? What's your goal? Your end game? Do you owe my father a debt you're trying to repay through me? Is this a long con to try to recruit an agent as an asset? Do you just enjoy using members of the FBI as your pawns? Believe me, I've been through a hundred possible scenarios."

Reddington looked Liz in the eye. "You're not a pawn, Lizzie."

"Then what am I?"

Red gave a melancholy smile. "You're my king."

Liz rolled her eyes at the dodged question. "And that makes you, what? My queen?" she replied acerbically.

"No," Red said. He tilted his head and let his eyes roam over Liz's face, her hair, the borrowed expensive jewelry. "I like to think of myself as your knight." His seemed to look through her as his eyes lost focus, as if he was suddenly far away. "I've always liked the way they move," he said softly.

Liz stepped toward Red, closing the space between them even more. She searched his face. "Every once in awhile I get a glimpse of _you_ when you look at me, and I want to know why that expression seems reserved for me, and me only."

Red looked at her with a resigned smile that just touched his eyes. "I've explained this to you before: I don't tell you the truth to _protect _you."

"That's not good enough anymore, Red. It's not fair for you to know _everything _about me—you've essentially _stalked_ me, on some level, for years now—and yet you never give me a whole answer about anything personal. You mentioned your daughter a moment ago," she prompted. "Tell me more about your family."

Red shook his head, stepping one foot back to put space between them. "Lizzie—"

Liz grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, halting his retreat. "Tell me about your time in the military," Liz begged. No response. "How did you know my father? What do you want from me? Why do I mean so much to you? _Hey!_" Liz barked, and Reddington's eyes snapped back to hers.

"Tell me _something_," she demanded. "What do you want from me?" She raised an eyebrow. "Is it sexual? Because tonight I practically crawled into your lap while kissing and seducing another man, and your breathing stayed so slow and measured you could have _actually_ been asleep." Liz stepped back, pulling Red's lapels to bring him with her, and not letting go when she contacted the desk. She perched on the beveled wood edge before wriggling back to a seated position on the hard surface. "What is it that you want?" Her voice was low and tempting as she pulled him closer to stand between her legs, and she leaned in to him, her breath on his chin. "Me in nothing but your fedora and a pair of stilettos?"

"Well, _that_ sounds like fun," Hendricks' voice interrupted from the doorway. He leaned against the door frame, a gun trained on the pair of them. "I'm sorry; it seems like I'm barging in on a 'moment' for you two, but Faith, honey, I thought we had a date?"

…..:::::

I promise, you'll get the next chapter this weekend. I'm already working on it.

Thank you again to all the wonderful reviewers, and in particular AddictedtoTVShows for prompting me to realize my first draft of this chapter had little-to-no tension in it whatsoever, and was in dire need of a rewrite. If there is now too much tension and the cliffhanger left you frustrated, shoot all your annoyance and ire toward Addicted. Totally their fault. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I do not own the Blacklist characters, and I make no money from this.

Author's note: Thank you all for the reviews and comments! Again, I apologize about the cliffhanger, but it had to be done. I had a tough time picking where to stop the previous chapter, but in the end, cruelty won out, and I went with the dreaded cliffhanger. :) Also, I'm sorry it took me ages to get this next chapter up! So without further ado…

Chapter 6

…..:::::

"Well, _that_ sounds like fun," Hendricks' voice interrupted from the doorway. He leaned against the door frame, a gun trained on the pair of them. "I'm sorry; it seems like I'm barging in on a 'moment' for you two, but Faith, honey, I thought we had a date?"

Liz felt Red tense, and after a beat, he raised his hands and gently detached her grip from his jacket lapels. He turned to face Hendricks, placing himself directly in front of where Liz sat, and blocking her completely with his frame. "_'A shifty, fickle object is woman, always.' _Virgil," Reddington quoted. "The lady changed her mind."

"Wow, Carl, you sobered up fast. Eloquently referencing ancient roman poets almost as if you'd never been drunk to begin with. That's wonderful, because now that we've stopped the charade, you can tell me your real name. I'm going to need yours, too, sweetheart," he added, inclining his head and looking over Reddington's shoulder.

Liz eased off the desktop and stepped out from behind Red, and Hendricks adjusted his gun toward her. Reddington clapped his hands together in front of himself and gave one of his practiced laughs. "You found me out," he said with sarcastic bravado. "Regrettably, I _did_ have to give you a fake name before when we were just new acquaintances on an elevator, but now that you're holding a gun on my colleague, I can see that we're friends, so let me reintroduce myself. I'm Antony," Red gestured to Liz, "and this _beautiful_ creature is Cleopatra."

"Well-read _and_ funny! No wonder you picked him," Hendricks said drily. "Now. Your names."

Neither Liz nor Reddington spoke.

"Who do you work for?" Hendricks asked. "You're decently well-funded, but can't afford the top-of-the-line stuff, based on the surveillance equipment I just found all over my suite."

Reddington looked pointedly at Liz and said, "I told you it was outdated." She glared back at him.

Hendricks motioned to the two chairs provided for visitors in front of the desk. "Sit down."

"I'd prefer to stand," Reddington replied, not moving.

"Historically, Cleopatra outlived Mark Antony." Hendricks extended his arm, keeping the gun trained on Liz. "I'm okay with this scenario going a little differently."

Liz moved slowly to one of the chairs, and sat down carefully, never taking her eyes off Hendrix. Reddington watched her movements, paused as if still considering his options, then took the other chair for himself. Hendricks pulled several zip ties from his pocket and began securing Reddington's wrists and ankles to the carved arms and legs of the chair.

"So, if you don't mind my asking, when did you figure us out?" Red asked, genuinely curious, but also stalling for time. He was acutely aware of the smashed microphone pieces on the end table, and the fact that Liz had pulled her earpiece out while they were arguing. Ressler and the team knew exactly where they were, and it was only a matter of minutes before the cavalry arrived due to lack of communication and response.

"The elevator repairman. Not only was his accent terrible, but he said 'elevator' and not 'lift'. Not to mention we had a drunk man who didn't smell like he'd been drinking, a private suite without the usual flowers on the foyer table, no suitcases in the bedroom, and—" he looked up at Reddington with an accusing eyebrow raised, "—I'm guessing you're the one who ate half my chocolates while you were upstairs?"

Liz rolled her eyes and exhaled in frustration. "Half? You ate _half_ of his chocolates?"

"You were making me miss the party, and my blood sugar was dropping," Red explained with an abbreviated, dismissive wave of his bound hand. "And it sounds like missing chocolates were the least of our missteps here tonight."

Hendricks finished with Reddington, and roughly dragged him so he was looking directly at Liz before moving to her chair and rotating her similarly so they faced each other. Hendricks went to work on her wrists with the zip ties. Once he had secured her hands, he laid his gun down on the desk and moved to her ankles.

"I have a confession to make," Hendricks admitted as he grabbed Liz's left ankle and slipped a zip tie around it, tightening it to the left leg of the chair. "I heard 'Carl' here call you Lizzie before I so rudely interrupted your conversation." He looked up at Liz, pausing with the final zip tie in his hand. "Is your name Lizzie?"

Liz looked down at Hendricks, who sat crouched on the floor by her right leg. "My name is Elizabeth Keen. I'm an agent with the FBI. And my team is on their way upstairs right now." She leaned a few inches toward him. "So you might want to think about leaving sometime soon," she said with a hard expression.

"Oh, your team is on their way? Let's just wait on them, then, shall we?" Hendricks shifted his position slightly and dropped one knee to the ground as if settling in for a wait. Liz's brows knit together almost imperceptibly, but Hendricks caught it. "You're starting to look worried, Lizzie. Wondering where your team is? What's taking them so long? Well, let's just say you're not the only ones who brought friends to this party tonight." Hendricks smiled. "So we've got lots of time before any of your _other _FBI friends come looking for you, especially in this room, since the use of it looked improvised, and probably wasn't part of any official plan." Hendricks gently took hold of Liz's right ankle. "Now. I know _your_ name, Lizzie. Tell me his."

"My name is Elizabeth," Liz said, an angry edge in her voice.

Hendricks pulled her right ankle toward the other chair leg with one hand while brushing the expensive fabric of her gown to the side, exposing her leg. "But_ he_ calls you 'Lizzie'." He secured the zip tie, and ran his hand slowly up the length of her lower leg, letting it come to a rest just above her knee. "What do you think, Carl?" Hendricks turned to Red and dropped his voice. "If I'm nice to her, do you think she'll let _me_ call her Lizzie, too?"

"What is it that you hope to gain from all this?" Red asked in a measured tone. After a moment his eyes—which had been fixed on the hand on Liz's thigh—moved up to Hendricks' face. "Hmm? What do you really want?"

"Right now I'd just settle for your name, and then we can move on to what I want next. And I think I've found a decently effective method of getting you to talk. Lizzie means quite a lot to you, doesn't she?" Hendricks moved his hand an inch up Liz's bare thigh.

Liz looked down at the side of Hendricks' head with controlled disgust. "I wouldn't call this method 'decent'."

Hendricks' moved his hand up another inch in response, not bothering to look at her. "Your name," he prompted Reddington.

"Lizzie? Look at me." Liz moved her gaze from Hendricks to Red. Her face was stubborn and set, the look of a person determined to withstand whatever came next.

Hendricks' hand moved again.

Liz didn't look away. She shook her head slightly at Red, warning him not to say anything.

Hendricks' hand reached the top of Liz's exposed thigh, and slipped under the fabric of her dress.

Without her expression changing, Liz broke her solid eye contact with Red, her gaze shifting up and slightly to the left. Red saw the muscles in her jaw clench.

"Raymond Reddington."

Liz and Hendricks both looked back to Reddington at the same time. Red's eyes had never left Liz's. "My name is Raymond Reddington. And I repeat: what do you really want?"

…..:::::

Author's note: I wrote Liz's eye movements very specifically. When a person is trying to visually construct an image (not remember one that has already happened, but create a new picture), their eyes are said to shift up and to the left. I figured Liz would want to imagine a scene different from the one she was in, and would try to visualize something—or someone—else. Depending on how you like the tone of your fanfiction, you get to pick what she was imagining.

I'm hoping to get another chapter of this up before the season premiere on Monday! :)

Please review before you leave the page! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I do not own the Blacklist characters, and I make no money from this.

Author's note: Season 2 premiere tomorrow! Two chapters in two days to celebrate! :)

Chapter 7

…..:::::

"Raymond Reddington." Red's eyes never left Liz's. "My name is Raymond Reddington. And I repeat: what do you really want?"

Hendricks pulled his hand from Liz's dress, and gave a surprised smile. "Raymond Reddington? I've heard of you." He stood, and walked to the desk, leaning nonchalantly back against it and crossing his arms. "I'm a fan, actually. Your name was suggested to me by Madeline Pratt a few times when I found myself in a tight spot with customs and the importing of specific…artistic goods." Hendrix paused. "I guess this also explains your favorite color choice," he said to Liz conversationally.

"Wonderful. It's always nice to meet a fan," Reddington said. "Now _what do you want_."

"Well, now that I know who you are, I'm more inclined to consider my options before I start making requests. You're a useful man to have in my pocket."

Reddington smiled at Hendricks. "I'm actually quite large, Hendricks; I don't think I'd fit in any of your pockets. I do best as an independent entity. If you'd like to do business with me, I'm always looking for new clients, but I should warn you: first impressions are important in business dealings, and right now I'm tied to a chair. If you're hoping to cultivate a lasting relationship with me, you're going to need to remove the ties, and start trying to romance _me_, rather than groping the—fairly useless, to you—FBI agent." Red looked back at Liz, and continued with a puzzled expression, "What is it with the young men of your generation? So gauche when attempting seduction. _All thumbs_."

"Why did you bug my suite?" Hendricks asked.

Neither chair answered.

"Now, see, staying silent isn't a viable option, as we've already established that getting information from _one_ of you is quite simple—" Hendricks bent over next to Liz, roughly sliding his hand under her dress again. She turned her head and leaned forward, savagely biting his neck.

Hendricks stumbled back with a growl, a hand over his wound. "Jesus…" He pointed an accusing finger at Reddington. "You should have warned me she's a biter."

"I've never _had _to bite _him_," Liz snarled.

"She stabbed me in the neck with a pen once," Reddington volunteered. He looked back at Liz with a small smile, as if he was proud of her. "But no. No biting," he said softly.

Hendricks drew his hand away from his neck and looked at his fingers as if he expected the bite to have drawn blood. Liz hadn't broken the skin, but she could see a nasty pink welt forming just under his ear.

"The surveillance," Hendricks demanded again, his voice no longer holding any trace of humor. "Why here? I'm not even running anything at this event—tonight is a part of my legitimate day job. So why the bugs?"

Liz and Red stayed silent once more.

Hendricks leaned back on the desk edge again. "Okay, we'll come back to that one. Let's try something easier. Yasmine Goddard."

Reddington paused for a moment, searching for the name. He looked up at Hendricks, honestly puzzled. "Who?"

"Things are going to start getting messy if you refuse to answer any more of my questions, Raymond," Hendricks said in an unnervingly quiet voice. "I'm sure you can hold your own when under stress and in pain, especially if you're friends with women like Madeline and Yasmine, but I'm guessing once I start cutting pieces off of Lizzie here…" His voice trailed off. "Yasmine Goddard," he repeated.

"You're going to have to give me more to go on than just a name. I've never heard of her. Has she worked with Madeline? Why do you think _I_ know her?"

Hendricks reached into his inner jacket pocket and drew out a small switchblade. He examined it for a moment before flipping it open. The silver knife edge gleamed in the soft light of the suite's study.

"Give me a bit of context, a free hand, a phone, and five minutes, and I will find information on Yasmine Goddard for you," Reddington said. "_I_ don't know her, but with a little more information I'm sure I can find someone I know who _does_."

Hendricks pushed off the edge of the desk, still examining his blade with a frown, and moved toward Liz.

"Let's talk about the surveillance instead?" Reddington suggested. "I can detail exactly what we were doing here tonight, and what you can do to stop what we've put in motion, as well as how to protect yourself in future so someone can't exploit the vulnerability we found in your organization ever again."

"Red," Liz warned. "Don't say anything else. Do _not _tell this man anything."

Hendricks walked around behind Liz, and looked over her head at Reddington, studying him. "Why the sudden desire to answer my first question? Does Yasmine really have you so scared that you'd willingly give up information on FBI operations instead of compromising her and risking her wrath?"

"_I do not know anyone by that name_," Reddington stressed, drawing his words out for emphasis. "I'm willing to give you any other information you want, because I can't give you anything on _someone I've never heard of_." Reddington inclined his head, indicating Liz. "And I don't want _her_ to bleed half to death before you believe me."

"Why don't I make her bleed just a bit? Just to make sure? I could carve a nice tattoo into her shoulder here," Hendricks knelt behind the chair, his head level with Liz's, adjusting the knife in his hand. "After all, her favorite color _is _red. Let's add some to her outfit this evening."

"I'm fine with that," Liz said, and slammed her head back into Hendricks' nose, which broke with a satisfying crack. "As long as it's yours."

Hendricks stumbled to his feet and fumbled for a handkerchief in his pocket, holding it to his nose with a groan.

"I'll be honest with you, Lizzie," Red said with an amused smile. "While the earlier offer of you in my hat and stilettos might be more classically tempting, I'm surprised to find I _adore_ watching you trounce a man from the confines of a chair."

"I'm so glad you're enjoying the show," Liz replied drily, noting that Hendricks had both eyes closed, and his back was turned almost completely. She pushed lightly up on her toes, rocking onto the back legs of her chair, and wiggled down in her seat. Reddington glanced down at the feet of her chair, and noticed for the first time that their designs were different. He could feel with his heels that his chair had decorative claw feet, while hers had a much higher back, and tapered legs. She was able to get the zip ties around her ankles within an inch of slipping over the bottom of the legs before Hendricks straightened up, and she quickly righted her chair, sitting up straight again.

Hendricks turned back to face Liz, dropping the bloody handkerchief from his face, revealing rapidly bruising eyes, and a crooked nose. With an open hand, he slapped Liz viciously, sending her head snapping to one side.

"Yasmine Goddard!" Hendricks snarled.

Reddington strained at the ties around his wrists, to no avail. "I can't tell you what I _don't know_," he ground out.

"Wrong answer." Hendricks walked behind Liz and quickly wrapped a hand around her neck, pulling her back against his torso and squeezing a brutal strangle hold. She fought for breath under the pressure of his grasp, her hands scratching at the arms of the chair, and she twisted and writhed, trying to gain enough leverage to escape the bruising grip.

"Let her go," Reddington demanded sharply.

"Yasmine Goddard," Hendricks repeated maliciously.

"I can tell you one thing," Reddington said, talking quickly while he mirrored Liz's movements in a futile struggle to free his own hands. "There is nowhere you will ever be able to hide from me. If I don't manage to slit your throat in this room tonight, I swear to you: no matter where you go, I will find you. No matter who you pay to protect you, no matter how safe you think you are, there will come a day when I will be there, and I will kill you. I will burn cities to the ground, I will lay waste to entire armies, I will cut a ruthless swath of destruction through the world, and when I find you, you will beg for death, because it will seem a sweet and enticing alternative to the vicious and frankly barbaric acts I will visit upon you and anyone who stands in my way," Reddington ended with growl.

Hendricks held Reddington's gaze a moment longer before releasing Liz and stepping back. She gave a strangled gasp and immediately coughed out the air again, her lungs unwilling to take a normal breath. "Okay. I believe you don't know Yasmine," he said, sniffing. He wiped at his upper lip, smearing the blood that covered the lower half of his face as he returned to his perch on the edge of the desk between them.

Liz continued to cough, leaning forward in her chair, strained tears streaking her mascara.

"Cough it out," Red said softly, watching Liz gulp air with relief. "There you go…" Liz looked up at him, wheezing raspy breaths. He tilted his head to one side and gave her a miserable smile. "You're okay." Liz nodded and gave another strangled cough. Red nodded back at her and let out a long breath.

"Okay," Hendricks said, taking off his tuxedo jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Next question."

…..:::::

Oof. Writing violence is not generally my thing. Yes, I sorted into Slytherin, but I'm usually a very peaceable girl. Hopefully this chapter reads okay, and hold onto your butts, because I'm done not yet. :/

Let me know how you're liking things! Comment before you leave the page!


	8. Chapter 8

Back Upstairs

Disclaimer: I do not own The Blacklist characters, and I am not making money on this.

Author's note: Final chapter, guys! Thank you to all who have faithfully read and reviewed. Everyone has been so wonderful and welcoming to the fandom! I'm in the process of writing another angsty Blacklist fic (**shameless plug**), so yes, this story is ending, but I'm not done with these characters. Not by a long shot. :) Also, remember that this is rated T, and my goal was to have this story come very close to something that could fit into the end of season one as an episode. Continued UST is one of my favorite things about any show. ;)

Chapter 8

…..:::::

"Okay," Hendricks said, taking off his tuxedo jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Next question."

"You don't get to ask any more questions," Red said, still watching Liz as her breaths began to come easier.

"I don't think you're in any position to dictate that, Raymond." Hendricks bent to pick up the knife from where it had fallen on the floor. "Let's go back to discussing the surveillance upstairs. What intel were you after?"

Red finally looked at Hendricks. "You're an ass. You're an ass in Armani, but you're still an ass. You flounce around the world causing problems for foreign governments, stirring up trouble with local leaders looking to seize power…all the while being a pretentious little prick who enjoys insulting the private collectors he's selling his latest ill-gotten prize to." Reddington carefully avoided glancing back at Liz, instead directing an unwavering look of disdain at Hendricks. "You fancy yourself a politician of sorts, but the worst kind—which is really saying something when it comes to politicians. You think you're the only man to recognize the problems in the world, and you're arrogant enough to think you're also the only man who can come up with a way to fix them. I'll let you in on a little secret: you're neither one of those men."

Hendricks raised his eyebrows at Reddington and gave a tight smile, oblivious to the gradual backwards tilt of Liz's chair. "And I suppose you are?"

"Oh, God, no!" Reddington smiled without humor and gave a sharp laugh before his face turned serious again. "I don't pop around the globe whispering in the ears of dissidents and separatists, throwing my money at groups who promise change but can't deliver. You don't do your homework; you don't do your research. For some time now I've been following your attempts at being a rebel benefactor in central Africa and South East Asia, and I've come to the conclusion that you're a _child_. You're making enemies and lots of poor decisions, Mark, and allowing your infantile dealings around the world to continue is about as dangerous as letting a five year old play with an automatic weapon during recess, so people either want you dead or jailed. You don't know the value of money versus a well-placed favor, you don't know how to make friends with both sides in case the process falls through, you sure as _hell _don't know how to make a woman happy—I had dinner with Kira Porter last month; she does _not_ send her regards—" Red interrupted himself, and Hendricks face blanched, caught off guard by the detail, "—and worst of all, you're unwilling to be patient. You want to effect change, but you assume you can make it happen _now_, which is an incredibly immature way to operate. You're a spoiled, juvenile brat who thinks wearing an Armani tux and offering sex on a balcony in France is suave enough to pick up a beautiful woman stuck in an elevator with you for five minutes tonight. Now, just because I pity you, I'll let you in on another secret: she had to fake _all _of that, and I think it's safe to say it really pissed her off."

Her ankles now freed from their constraints, Liz gripped the arm rests and stood, pivoting her body with all the force she could muster. Capitalizing on the element of surprise, she swung her chair at Hendricks, smashing it into the side of his head and sending him sprawling to the ground. He rolled onto his side, disoriented, and Liz quickly knelt to pick up the knife from where he had dropped it once again. She flipped the handle backwards across her palm so the blade faced up her forearm and ran it under the zip tie on her wrist. Once she had her right hand free, she made short work of the final tie on her left.

"Nicely done," Reddington said quickly. "Give me the knife—"

Liz sliced the tie from his right wrist and handed him the knife, spinning to the desk to grab Hendricks' gun. Her fingers barely grazed it as she heard Red shout a warning, a moment too late. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, slamming her forward into the desk, and the gun skittered across the broad wood surface, out of reach. Liz struggled to push back against Hendricks, but he had all the leverage and a superior position. He grabbed her hair, driving her head down onto the desk top. Liz reached back to sink her nails into the hand holding her hair, and Hendricks let out a growl but didn't let go. Reaching out to pin down her other hand, he pressed his weight over Liz's back and snarled into her ear, "Too bad we'll never see that balcony on the Mediterranean. Throwing you off of _this _one will just have to do." He straightened, pulling Liz up by her hair, and began dragging her around the side of the desk toward the glass doors. He swung one open wide, jerking Liz's head back viciously in response to her continued struggles, and reached for the gun on the desk.

Having just cut the last of his bonds, Reddington lunged forward at the same time, and drove the knife through Hendricks' hand, pinning him to the desk before he could grab the gun. He yowled, releasing Liz and clawing desperately at Red's hand which still gripped the handle of the blade. With a composed expression on his face, Reddington walked around the edge of the desk to stand next to Hendricks, who had dropped to his knees in pain, still whimpering frantically. Reddington wrapped a hand around Hendricks' forehead, pulling the kneeling man's head back against his torso in the same posture as he had held Liz just minutes before. In one smooth motion, Reddington pulled the knife from Hendricks' hand, sliced across the man's throat, and buried the point in the desk again with enough force to leave it standing upright as Hendricks' body slumped sideways to the floor.

Liz stood staring at the crumpled form, breathing heavily, until Reddington spoke. "Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. "You didn't have to—" she rasped, her words dying in another choked cough.

"Yes, I did. Are you hurt?" Reddington repeated, stepping toward her and raising a hand slowly, as if to touch an injured animal. With one finger he gently lifted her chin, frowning at the bruises forming around her neck. "Your voice will return to normal soon, and swallowing won't be fun for a little while...but that's what ice cream is for." He gave her a small smile.

Liz held Reddington's gaze for a long moment before taking a breath and starting, "I'm sorry about earlier. I know I probably crossed a line, but I just _need to know_... Why? Why _me_?" she pleaded.

Red frowned. "Lizzie," he said carefully after a moment, shaking his head, "I won't have this conversation with y-"

With a crash, the suite door flew open, and Ressler and Meera ran into the main room, guns drawn.

"Federal agents! Put your weapons down!" Ressler shouted.

"We're clear!" Liz said, not looking away from Red even as she stepped back from him, feeling for all the world like he'd just closed a heavy door in her face. "Hendricks is down. We're not hurt."

Meera ran into the room, holstering her weapon. "What happened to your com?" she demanded.

"What happened to _you_?" Liz asked, ignoring the question. "Hendricks' people—"

"Were obnoxious, but ultimately they turned out to be poor excuses for private security. They're cuffed downstairs. Aram is with them," Ressler said, kneeling next to Hendricks' body. "I'm guessing you're going to tell me this was necessary?" he said, looking up at Reddington.

"Quite," he confirmed, tilting his head and pursing his lips.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Liz asked Ressler, suddenly noticing he had his left arm couched protectively at his side.

"Dislocated, possibly broken. EMTs are on their way," Ressler said, straightening. "Like I said, Hendricks' men were obnoxious."

Within minutes more agents and several EMTs swarmed into the suite, ushering Ressler into the bedroom to evaluate his shoulder, while camera flashes lit up the study in an erratic rhythm, documenting the body and the damage to the room. Accounts of the evening's events were given, and after almost an hour, Reddington was allowed to walk back over to Liz, who was standing in the main room, looking out the windows at the dark London skyline.

"We'll be on a plane home tomorrow," she said, not having to check to see who had joined her at the window. They stood next to each other in silence for a long minute. "I didn't get to see Big Ben," she said resignedly. "I wanted to see Big Ben."

Red nodded. "You know, I _do_ have my own jet. Stay an extra hour with me; I know someone in Security at the Parliament building. He gives a very entertaining tour of the whole clock tower."

Liz smiled, finally turning her head to look at him, and accepted the peace offering. "That would be nice," she said as Ressler joined them, holding an ice pack across his shoulder.

"What would be nice?" he asked.

Liz looked him up and down. "Your shoulder…?"

"Temporarily dislocated, but back in place now. I'm on my way to the hospital for some imaging, and it looks like I'll be in a sling for the next few weeks. If all you two got were some bumps and bruises, you should head back to our hotel and get some rest. We'll do the full briefing first thing in the morning before we get on the plane home."

Liz nodded, exhausted. Reddington turned toward the door and with an _after you_ gesture, followed Liz toward the elevator.

"Oh, hey," Ressler called after them as they walked away. "I'm curious—when did you guys get made?"

"Actually, it was your truly heinous accent and your complete lack of knowledge about British vocabulary," Red answered over his shoulder, not pausing. "So thanks for that."

"And the chocolates," Liz added.

"Yes, but we don't need to tell him that," Red replied quietly, inclining his head toward Liz conspiratorially and taking her elbow to steer her quickly out of the suite.

As Red pushed the call button for the elevator, Liz paused. "What floor are we on?" she asked, eying the doors with apprehension.

"Fifty-two," Reddington replied. "Why?"

A chime sounded, the doors slid open, and Liz sighed, crinkling her nose at the sight of the elevator car. "I think I want to take the stairs."

…..:::::

Eesh! Much more Reddington-heavy for this last chapter, but I realized Liz needed a distraction to get her legs free, and I love listening to Red insult someone. :) Plus, poor girl had just been choked half to death, so she wasn't going to be up to talking much. At least not immediately. I also wanted to make sure that both Red _and_ Liz participated in their escape and triumph over The Bad Guy. So often the girl is just _rescued_. I wanted this to be a bit more of a partnership effort. :)

And that's all, folks! Thank you so much for sticking with me, reading, and reviewing! This is officially the longest story I've ever written, and I've completely shattered all my previous personal records for number of favorites, follows, and reviews. I'm so flattered by the response to this story!

Let me know how you liked the conclusion! And thank you all again for reading! :)


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